Date: Fri, 31 Oct 2008 21:00:48 -0700 (PDT)
From: John Black <blackhunk33@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Assassin, Chapter 1

					The Assassin

					Chapter 1

	Phoot!  Phoot!

	Two shots coughed from the shortened, silenced automatic, microseconds
from each other.  The target flinched.  A puff of pulverized paper lifted
from dead center.  The second bullet struck an eighth of an inch to the right
and above the first one.  The tall, muscular man relaxed briefly, resuming
his shallow breathing.  The gun looked like a shortened machine gun, but all
its components were made of non-metals that would pass any airport machine
inspection.  It could be fired in full automatic (which emptied the 30-round
magazine in under a second) or semi-automatic (which fired twice each time
the trigger was depressed).

	Boom!  Clang!

	Boom!  Clang!

	He glanced to his left ten feet.  His partner's weapon smoked from the
tip.  He looked down the range and smiled.  The other paper target was holed
dead center as well.  However, that target's center was completely
obliterated.  The munitions being used were from a far larger caliber weapon,
the depleted uranium tip able to penetrate steel plating.
Given the size of the bullets, only five rounds fit in the cylinder.  The
Kevlar and steel plating behind the target smoked.  If one of those rounds
hit a man, you'd need only a sponge and squeegee to find pieces big enough to
bury.  Obviously, his weapon wouldn't pass any kind of inspection.

	They removed their goggles and ear protectors simultaneously.  The
practice session had gone well.  They had moved through many firing positions
including running and diving to the ground.  All had scored direct hits.
With a high and low five, they cleared their weapons and left the gallery.
Someone else had the task of cleaning up.

	"Good shooting," I smiled.

	"Same to you, Bruh," the other man replied.

	We had been a team since second grade.  I watched his back and he
watched mine.  He was of Italian ancestry and I had a mixed pedigree (being a
combination of black, Native American, and poor white trash).  His coloring
was a little darker than mine, but not by much.  We both stood at 5'11" tall.
He outweighed me by 20 very muscular pounds at 210.  I was a scrawny
(according to him) 190.  I was a master of disguise and munitions: he was a
marvel at accents and languages, including computers.  They baffled me,
except for the most rudimentary tasks.  He spoke their language of ones and
zeros like a native.

	Through sports in high school and college, through Special Ops training
and missions, we'd been inseparable.  But, a special unit had been formed
that was hidden in a very black budget.  No one other than the President, the
Secretary of Defense, and the Joint Chief of Staff knew of our existence.
Missions came directly from the four-star General, the Joint Chief.  Each one
was approved by the President.

	With their approval, we also freelanced.  But, those "jobs" were
reviewed carefully; to be sure they didn't conflict with national security
interests.  They never did.  We were very selective about which clients and
which tasks we undertook.  We didn't come cheap, either.  Depending on the
circumstance and the target, our fee started at half a million dollars.  But,
success was guaranteed.  So was anonymity.

	We are assassins.

	I'm John Black.  My partner is Tony Coletti.

	We'd been more than partners and best friends.  We were also lovers.
Tony and I had done the usual exploring and questioning that all young boys
do and thought nothing of it.  However, by the time we were 13, we had begun
pleasuring each other as only another man can do with expert blowjobs.  When
we started high school, a junior on the football team had taken an interest
in us.  I was sure it had something to do with our big, hard dicks that we
waved at each other in the showers when we didn't think anyone else was
looking.

	We jacked off with him that afternoon in the boys' bathroom and again
the next day.  "You wanna see something really great?" he tantalized us.  We
nodded warily.  "Just be here at four this afternoon.  Hide in the weight
room with the lights off.  At five after four, come out into the locker room
and look in the window of the coach's office.
You won't believe what you'll see!"

	He was right.  We couldn't believe it.  The football coach had Ron bent
over the desk in the coach's office with his big black dick up the junior's
ass, pumping away like mad.  Ron was urging the coach to fuck him harder and
faster, "really pound my ass," he'd shouted.  We'd been through enough health
classes to know that you were always supposed to fuck with a condom on, but
the coach didn't have one on.  He'd pulled out and rammed his thick, long
dick up Ron's ass enough times that it was confirmed.

	"How can he take something that big up his ass?" Tony whispered.

	I saw a plastic bottle on the desk near them.  "Hand lotion," I said,
nodding toward the bottle.  "Ron sure does seem to love it," I added.

	"Yeah!" Tony agreed.  He paused and looked at me.  "You wanna try it?"

	"Only if you let me fuck you, too?"

	"With that big thang?" he protested, grabbing my throbbing crotch.

	"It's only fair," I countered, stroking his hard ass.

	He thought about it for a moment as he watched the two males in the
coach's office fuck like rabbits.  Ron flipped over on to his back and took
the big dick up his eager ass, again.  "Yeah, Coach!  FUCK ME!" Ron bellowed
as he flailed his own dick.

	"Okay, but you gotta take it easy," Tony relented.  "It looks hot, but
I don't know how Ron can take that monster up his tight ass.  I don't know if
I ever could."

	Well, Tony could and he does, nearly every day, and almost once a day
from me.  We haven't been monogamous, that's for certain.  But, we've only
entertained other men when both of us were there.

	I wouldn't want you to think that Tony only bottoms when we're
together, far from it!  I take my turn taking his big Italian sausage up my
ass and swallowing his creamy loads as deeply as he can squirt them up my
butt channel.

	When the coach had finally blasted a load up the young man's ass and
Ron had sprayed his chest and chin with his own load, the older man pulled
out slowly and kissed Ron.  We were dumbfounded.  We'd never thought of sex
as more than sex.  This made us both wonder what it would be like to kiss a
guy.  Both of us had kissed a lot of girls, even at the tender age of 14.
Then the coach licked Ron's sperm off, kissing down his abs and pushing his
legs back into the boy's chest.  When the coach buried his face in Ron's ass,
both of us inhaled sharply.

	"What the fuck's he doing?" Tony exploded in a stage whisper.

	"Looks like he's suckin' his load outta Ron's ass!" I blurted out.

	"Ew!" Tony grimaced.

	"Not what I'd do, that's for sure!" I agreed.

	Well, it didn't take long after our first fuck of each other that we
were felching loads from each other's well-fucked asses, too.  We'd become
major ass pigs and didn't mind at all that other men thought of us as kinky.
It was what we did; we surely enjoyed it, and no harm done.

	And yeah, Ron had taken multiple loads from us before he graduated.  We
never did sex it up with the coach though.  That just didn't seem right for
some reason.

	Our current assignment from the President took us to England.  The
target was a firebrand Mullah with blood, drug money, and buggering young
boys on his hands.  He incited impressionable young men to fight the Infidels
with his perverted version of Islam for the glory of Allah.  Nearly all
Muslims in England disavowed him, but he had his rabid followers and a trail
of carnage that the Brits had been unable to pin on him.  His lieutenants
worked their nefarious deeds by poisoning the bodies of drug-abusing Britons
while he poisoned the minds of his followers.  They also recruited or
kidnapped young boys to satisfy their collective needs to fuck boy ass.

      His hate message was being exported around the world.  Specifically,
the President told us that an attack on a shopping mall in Michigan was not
the work of a disgruntled store employee, but of a man specifically recruited
to bring as much mayhem and death to Americans as he could.  By attacking at
the economic hub of the country, one mall at a time, the Mullah hoped to get
America to turn inward and leave the world stage.  That showed how little he
knew about how Americans react to that kind of threat.  However, rather than
alarm the public, a cover story had been created by the FBI after the
delusional young man had been shot and killed.  Fourteen other people had
died in his random hail of bullets, including two security guards and one
off-duty policeman.  Four children were among the casualties, too.

	In Spain, his minions attacked a tour bus, killing the driver.  The bus
careened off the road and into a ravine.  Fifteen tourists died.  Initial
reports laid this attack on the doorstep of the Basque separatist movement.
But, we knew it was our targets' handiwork.

	In France, he stirred up the minorities in Paris, burning cars, beating
non-Muslims, and generally causing enough chaos that the army had to be
called in to quell the violence.

	Other atrocities followed in other countries, each carefully
orchestrated to deflect blame from him and on to local "trouble makers".  His
reign of terror was coming to an end though.  Tony and I were on the job.

      Our new President and the Prime Minister had conversed on the issue,
but without resolution.  "Before they hit us again," the Joint Chief told us,
"take him out, as well as his chief lieutenants.  Do your usual disappearance
of the targets.  No bodies, no questions."

	Gordon Brown, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom didn't know of
our impending job.  The President thought it best not to say anything.  Thus,
our mission wouldn't be compromised in England by loose lips over there.  If
the mission was a success, no one would know what happened to the Mullah,
other than he disappeared.

	That was how we worked.  The target simply disappeared.  He was never
seen again, and there was never any trace of his body turning up.  In our ten
years of working covertly, we'd established a string of "helpers" who agreed
(for a price and for the sake of patriotism) to assist in the disappearances.

	In this particular case, two of the cleric's assistants were to
suddenly vanish as well.  The General explained that they had to disappear,
too; or there would be little point in terminating the life of the Mullah.
Luck was on our side this time.  His two lieutenants were also his
bodyguards.  They went with him everywhere.

	We flew Business Class directly from San Francisco to Heathrow via
Virgin Atlantic on their 4:30 p.m. flight.  It took us 10 hours to get there,
arriving at 10:30 a.m. local time.  Despite the noise, we slept fairly well.
The subway took us to our hotel in Chelsea (which abutted the football
(soccer) stadium) near downtown London.

	For the remainder of the week, we reconnoitered the mosque closest to
our hotel.  As there were ten mosques in the Greater London area, we waited
for the errant cleric to hold services nearby.  Our first task was to blend
into the population.  Tony quickly picked up the accent while I decided what
disguises we should wear.  In nearly all of our missions, I was the silent
partner.  If I opened my mouth, I'd give us away for sure.

	Given Tony's size, I decided that he should go into the mosque as an
old, fat man.  I would accompany him as his grandson.  I lightened my skin a
couple more tones, added a trimmed beard to go with my goatee, and purchased
a ready-made suit.  I made sure it didn't fit very well, so I'd blend in
better into this lower class neighborhood.  The General had already supplied
us with two well-worn prayer rugs.

	Tony tottered along the sidewalk, leaning on me and a cane.  We said
our prayers for five days, five times a day.  The monotony was getting to me.
At least I'd had the good sense to memorize the prayers before we'd gone into
the mosque.  Of course, Tony spoke the language like a native, engaging
several of the men in conversation afterwards.

      We learned exactly nothing about the Mullah and his henchmen.  Finally,
on the sixth day, he preached his version of Islam after evening prayers.  We
sat dutifully along with the rest of the men.  When his ranting finished, we
rose and left with everyone else.  I picked up some muttering about the
Mullah and his "crazy-headed" views.  Tony picked up mostly the same from the
Arabic speakers.  However, he did hear one bit of good news.  Our target was
going up to Manchester in one week.  At least, the Londoners wouldn't have to
listen to him that evening.

	To be sure, Tony asked if the Mullah would be in Manchester the whole
day or just for one prayer session.  He eyed Tony curiously, then shrugged
and said that the Mullah would be in Manchester for only evening prayers.
With Manchester four hours away from London, he'd probably be leaving in the
early afternoon.  But, we couldn't be sure.  It might be better to hit him on
his way back from Manchester, but with evening prayers over an hour and a
half after sunset, he may decide to spend the night in Manchester and go back
to London the next morning.  There were too many variables.

	"Maybe we should clip them the next time he's here," Tony suggested.
"You know, after evening prayers?"

	"The Manchester scenario is certainly too iffy," I responded with a
sigh.  We walked to the side of the building and saw his Bentley idling by
the curb.  One of his bodyguards stood by an opened rear door.  The other one
stood by the back door of the mosque.  Both scanned the area for potential
threats.  I nodded in their direction cordially, and then slid my view away.
But, Tony kept his peripheral vision fixed on them, adding a running
commentary as to how we could take them down on the darkened street tonight.

	There were too many witnesses now I decided and we had another plan in
mind.  Besides, this was not the right time or place.  Perhaps, we should
follow them, I suggested.  Having parked the car only a block away, I
casually rounded the corner and sprinted to the car.  Of course, I opened it
on the wrong side.  The steering wheel was on the right.  DUH!

	"What took you so long?" Tony whispered as I pulled up to the corner of
the mosque.  I shrugged, not willing to admit a stupid error.  He turned
slowly, surveying all vistas before he nodded in the direction of the idling
Bentley.  "I have no idea what's taking so long," he muttered.  "One of the
bodyguards went back inside," he added, nodding toward the Mullah's car.

	A driver was at the wheel, but the Mullah was still inside with the
other bodyguard.  "Perhaps, someone wanted some conversation with His
Exaltedness, delaying him?" I smiled.

	"Shut the fuck up, you heathen," Tony laughed back at me.  "Have a
little respect.  Here he comes!"

	We ducked lower in the rented car.  Our motor was off as well as the
headlights.  The Mullah walked directly from the side door to the automobile.
He left the door open for a moment.  "What the hell is he doing?" Tony
wondered.

	"Too lazy to close his own door?" I offered.    "Rank doth hath ith
privilegeth," I added.  Tony laughed at my fractured old English.

	The door to the mosque opened again and the other bodyguard came out,
dragging a boy.  "What's that about?" Tony whispered.  The boy was tossed
into the backseat with the cleric and slammed the door.  The second bodyguard
walked around the car and got into the front passenger seat.  The Mullah
raised the divider window between the front and back seats and pressed a
button.  The glass became opaque.  He leaned over the boy, but we couldn't
tell what he was doing.  The car drove off and rounded the corner ahead.  I
started up our car, jacked it into gear, and raced after them.  At the
corner, I could see them turn right again. They were headed back to the
cleric's mansion Once more, I followed with my lights off.

	For another 10 minutes, we followed, allowing other cars to get between
us, but never allowing the Bentley to get out of sight.  Finally, it pulled
up in front of his Georgian mansion.  The bodyguard in the passenger seat got
out and ran around the car.  He opened the door for the Mullah.  The cleric
stepped out and looked back into the car.  He smiled and motioned for the
guard to bring the boy.  The bodyguard reached far into the back seat and
dragged the boy, kicking and screaming up the stairs and through the front
door of the mansion.  He backhanded the kid once to get him under control.
Evidently it worked.  The boy stopped struggling.

	"I gotta bad feeling about this?" Tony whispered as we drove by the
Mullah's home and parked around the corner in a no parking zone.  We wouldn't
be away for long and need not worry about the car being towed at this hour.
I left the car and peered back.  The Bentley was leaving with only the
driver.  Parking was at a premium in this part of London, so he was probably
parking in a secure spot underground nearby.  I squatted down by our car as
he drove by.  Tony had already sprawled out on the seat to hide himself.

	"Now what?" I said as the Bentley disappeared.

	"We'll just wait for him to come back," Tony smiled.  "And invite
ourselves in."

	"Just like that?"

	"Just like that."

	"I love a good plan."

	Before I could disagree or suggest another way, the driver walked out
of an alley and headed toward us.  We'd been spotted.  There was no point in
trying to disappear.  Tony still looked like an old, fat man and I was still
his grandson.  Tony turned and hobbled toward the mansion, using the cane I'd
appropriated for his disguise.  I helped him along, gripping his big, right
arm, but not too tightly.  I didn't want the driver to see how muscular Tony
was.

	Tony said something in Arabic as the driver walked past us.  The driver
nodded and repeated what Tony had said.  Evidently, it was "good evening" or
such.  We were less than ten feet from the five steps that led up to the
double doors of the mansion.  The bodyguard fumbled with his keys at the top
step.  In two leaps I was standing next to him.  I smiled and hit him hard.
He went down like a sack of flour.  Tony pulled out a syringe, jabbed it into
our victim's butt, and pushed in the plunger.  The paralyzing drug coursed
into the lieutenant's veins, rendering him incapable of controlling his
muscles.  The miracle of this drug allowed the autonomic nervous system to
continue to function.  Breathing, heartbeat, and vision still worked.  His
mouth worked too, but he had no control over his vocal cords, so he had no
way to summon help.  It was certainly our drug of choice.

	"Classy," Tony smiled.  "What about an alarm system that he is supposed
to turn off after he entered?"

	"Oops," I shrugged and pushed the key into the lock.  The door opened
silently.  There was a keypad about five feet away, but the light was green.
The alarm had not been set.  I grinned smugly.

	"Lucky bastard," Tony murmured.

	"Ain't got nothin' to do with luck," I whispered.  "When you're THIS
good," I poked a thumb into my chest, "you don't need luck."

	"You're still a bastard," Tony rejoined.

	"Fuck you very much," I retorted.

	"No here, not now, but later," he grinned, cupping my heavy crotch.

	"Sweet talker," I quietly chuckled, brushing his hand away from my
stiffening dick.  He always did that to me.  Touch my dick and I'm gonna get
stiff.

	"Where you suppose they are?" Tony wondered.

	"They took the boy for sex," I began.  "I'm gonna assume they're in a
bedroom and that'll probably be upstairs," I indicated, pointing to a broad
staircase.

	"Let's shove this guy in a closet and come back for him later," Tony
suggested.  We dragged his heavy ass into the closet and closed the door
silently behind us.

	"Using the tasers tonight," I said as we crept up the stairway.
Simultaneously, we pulled the weapons from our pockets.  We checked the ready
lights to be sure they were fully charged and functioning.  As they had a
range of less than 20 feet, we'd have to be close to make them effective.

	The first bedroom door was closed, but the next one was open.
Whimpering emanated from it.  With hand signals, Tony directed me to take
point.  I'd take out the first adult I saw and roll to the floor.  He'd nail
the second one.

	The first person I saw was the bodyguard, his pants around his ankles,
and one hand stroking his hard dick.  His attention was focused on the Mullah
and the naked boy that was face down on the bed.  The boy had a gag in his
mouth and seemed only semi-conscious.  With lightning speed, I stepped into
the room and fired the taser at the bodyguard and dove for the floor.  The
bodyguard stiffened, shook violently at the nearly one million volts
punishing his nervous system, and fell like a tree to the floor.

	Two more small metallic spears raced across the room and hit the Mullah
on his naked ass.  He had been climbing on to the bed behind the boy when the
voltage incapacitated him.  He rolled off the bed and hit the floor hard.

	I extracted two more syringes and administered the incapacitating
dosages to both men.  Still groggy from the stunning voltage, they offered no
resistance.

      The boy, on the other hand, would be a problem if he identified us.
Working quickly, Tony tied a scarf over the boy's eyes.  The child grimaced,
but said nothing.  I dragged the bodyguard out of the bedroom while Tony
hefted the Mullah and carried him downstairs.  We dumped them near the back
entrance to the mansion, not far from the kitchen.  So far, we hadn't been
detected.  I wasn't sure anyone else was at home, but
I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances of increasing the body count.

	Tony searched the pocket of the guy he'd retrieved from the closet and
dumped his limp body with the other two.  "I'll bring their car around and
we'll take them away," he said.

	"See if you can find an alley," I countered.  "We don't want to be seen
on the street, pushing these guys inside."

	"Already thought of that," he replied.  "There must be a service alley
to go with this service entrance," Tony observed.  He eased the door open and
smiled.  "I'll be right back."  He bolted outside and disappeared.

	I checked our targets and smiled.  Still dazed.  I doubt if they have
any idea what happened to them, I decided.  I stripped both guards of their
munitions and found pills and powders in the pockets of both.  I didn't think
the pills were vitamins.  They needed to have drugs on them in case they
needed to make a sale?  That seemed awfully cavalier and dangerous.  If
they'd been searched, the Brits would have been all over them and deported
them instantly.  Not the sharpest knives in the drawer, I decided.

	Moments later, Tony arrived with the Bentley.  The Mullah went into the
boot (trunk) and the two bodyguards into the back seat.  All three were
coming around, but were still hazy on what was transpiring.  I wasn't about
to enlighten them.

	Twenty minutes later and with me following in our rented car, we pulled
into the rear, covered portico of a funeral home.  Our man was waiting at the
door.  First the Mullah, then his guards were "escorted" into the special
space we'd reserved for them.  They were alert to what was happening, but
could do nothing to prevent it.  The drug would wear off in another two
hours, but it would be far too late for them by then.

	Three wooden coffins leaned against the far wall, their lids removed.
Basil, the undertaker, carefully tipped the nearest coffin and laid it on the
floor.  Tony wrestled the Mullah's limp body into it.  With Basil's
assistance, we raised the coffin and placed it on a conveyor.  We duplicated
the "service" for the two bodyguards, placing them on parallel conveyors.

	Speaking in Arabic, Tony looked down at the three men in turn.  "For
your crimes against humanity and in the name of Allah, we commit your bodies
and your souls to the fires of HELL!"  With that benediction, Tony touched
the "start" buttons above all three conveyors in sequence.  A door opened at
the head of each coffin.  The three men slowly travelled through the yawning
doors and disappeared.  The doors closed.

	Tony nodded to each of us.  We took our places next to him, fingers
hovering over the "burn" button.  With a universal nod, we pushed the
individual buttons.  The roar of igniting gas followed.

	"How long before we can retrieve them?" I asked.

	"Call tomorrow morning about ten," Basil answered.  "They'll be ready.
Would you like special containers?"

	"No," Tony replied.  "A carton or box is sufficient for these vermin."

	"Separate?"

	"Your pleasure," I smiled back at him with Tony nodding ascent.

	We walked back out to the cars.  Tony slid behind the wheel of the
Bentley.  "We need to dump this," he said.

	"Take it to the Docklands," I directed.  "It'll be stripped before
noon, if we leave the keys in it."  We knew there were many chop-shops in
that neighborhood.

	"Devious!" Tony laughed.  "I like it."

	We dropped the car off at a conspicuous location.  Within 30 minutes,
the car had been inspected by a couple of nefarious gentlemen, opened to
their surprise, and driven away.  As they drove away, I noticed the driver.
"It's going to a good home," I smiled.

	"Yeah?"

	"Reggie's driving," I explained.  Reggie is one of our contacts in
London if we need a vehicle that can't be traced.  His chop-shop would have
it disassembled within a day.

	Tony smiled.  As we drove back to our hotel, he asked, "Where shall we
dispose of the ashes?"

	"Pig farm?" I drolly suggested.

	"Heathen!" he laughed.  "Allah would not be pleased.  The gutter near
the mosque?" he proposed.

	"His friends could walk on him!  I like the way you think.  But, I
liked my idea better," I pressed.

	"I'm not tempting God, Allah, or any other deity," Tony insisted.  "The
gutter."

	I shrugged and continued driving.  As we approached the hotel, I asked
him, "I know we've had this discussion before, but does this killing bother
you."

	"Every day," he answered.  "But, I know it has to be done, and we're
very good at it."  I nodded agreement.  "The world is a better, safer place
because of us and what we do."

	I had to laugh.  "We're gay men, and what we do is fuck ass."

	"You've changed the subject."

	"On purpose," I noted.  "Assassination is hard work, especially if you
don't wanna get caught."

	"How much can we trust Basil?" he asked.

	"He's been trustworthy for the last eight years," I replied.  "And he
knows we'll come after him and his family if he betrays us.  Why do you ask?"

	"Basil may not have enjoyed the fact that we were burning three men
alive," Tony responded.

	"He knew who they were and that they did, including buggering little
boys," I reminded him.  "And Basil has two young sons in their early teens."

	"Perhaps, it may be time to cultivate another operative," he suggested.
"A guilty conscience is an odd thing."

	"You may be right."

	Arriving at the hotel, we showered and slipped into bed.  An
assassination was a downer.  We didn't feel like sex.  But, we did feel like
being close.  We cuddled for about 30 minutes before Tony fell asleep in my
arms.  A few minutes later, I pulled slightly away from him and fell asleep
too.

	In the morning, we'd make up for it.



This story is fiction.  Your life isn't.  Play safe.

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